


The 'Real Big, Kickass Sex Machine' Attempt

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Kidnapping, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Sex Machine, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 10:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10216358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Lucas has built something in between murdering and torturing his fellow 'family' members and your gonna get to test it out after he's spent such a long, arduous amount of time on it. He says it'll be fun! So sit back and enjoy yourself.Warnings for: Dubious consent, possibly veering into non-con territory. See tags for more warnings. Also, Lucas Baker is his own warning, as always.>This turned into a huge cluster fuck and eventually, after playing with it for a couple days straight I had to stop. Hopefully, some will enjoy it.





	

Inside your cage, within your isolation, you couldn't help but run through the last twelve hours and wonder how you hadn't keeled over the first thirty minutes of finding out that the creepy farmhouse you picked to walk through on your way to the next pit stop was actually a slaughterhouse for dumb trespassers. It would seem you were now one of many such trespassers. Which, you figured, made you dumb as well. 

If you ever get out of here, you're going to have a word or two with the head honcho at Urbex about his so-called ‘safety trails.' Having one run right through the backyard of some hillbillies swamp is not ideal. 

You sit there in silence - you felt your mind go numb about an hour and a half ago and as the sounds of curdling screams filtered in through the floorboards, you feel little but emptiness. 

The bars on your cage, which is nothing more than a big dog crate, feel sticky as you wring your palms around the rusty metal. The threat of tetanus seems silly when you are pretty sure the next victim brought to the slaughter will be yourself. It was months ago when you last had your boosters, but why even think about that now? Your mind is grasping for distractions, but it's running low on energy to do so. Soon you'll be entirely numb with only a couple bursts here and there for nothing but pure terror. 

Footsteps approach, but soon enough they disappeared, and you’re left in the dark with nothing but your shallow breathes and the dripping silence for company. 

Like an idiot, you try to hum a tune, but you're still too frightened to hold it properly. 

Soon after, you must have fallen asleep because when your eyes open it's not to darkness, but candle light. The bars on your cage are open, and though your knees, down to your toes, are numb, unfeeling, you crawl out along age-softened wood flooring. 

It's damp wherever you are, and it's dusty, but something smells like sugar, and you blink rapidly to find a plate of hard cookies on the floor next to you. They're stale, you can tell just by looking at them...and chocolate chip to make matters worse, which even soft and warm are not your favorite but the last time you ate was that morning before you started your daily hike and you eat one before thinking about the consequences. 

It could very easily be poisoned you realize as the tang of sugar and fake chocolate turns to mush on your tongue. It goes down hard, but your stomach grumbles to take another. What if it is poison, though? It's not like they were letting you go...and from the horrific sounds of the others they had prisoner you're not too sure if being poisoned isn't the kinder option. 

None of it looks great, and you feel nervous sweat leak out over your skin as you push another rock hard cookie inside your mouth. Even as hungry as you are they taste like shit, but you eat all but one...as if there was only enough poison all together to kill you - as if leaving one would spare you. 

You were right. Something extra's been added to those disgusting biscuits, and you notice it thirty minutes later as you turn a corner, watching the small lights trail like car beams in an overshot photo. 

‘God, no,’ you think, wondering if the minor ache in your stomach was worth this until you feel like a thousand pounds has been added to your body. Your mass has tripled, quadrupled and with a gasping breath that seems unsuccessful, you slip to your knees. Just the effort of keeping your head up is exhausting, and you slide further to the floor until the soft wood is pressed into your cheek; kissing your skin. 

But you don't fall asleep, even though your mind has become a useless bowl of mush. Everything happens slowly...the world moving like cold syrup. 

When a crack of light appears from the floorboards and two gleaming eyes wink at you eagerly, it takes all that you have to roll over on your side and slump on your back. Maybe, you could turn to safety, you think, but you don't get further than a great view of the ceiling and even if you did where would you go? It wasn't as though there'd be a slot in the floor for you to fall and even if there had been you wouldn't have been able to move further than that...probably you'd break some bones in the process. 

Looks like an attic, you think, as you stare vacantly at the arched ceiling. A short, cheap laugh from the slice of light outside your vision runs you through with fear but your thoughts are miasmic at best, and the drugs in your system keep you from moving away. 

One of those battery pack hand torches rests on the floor, beaming off the wall beside you. The room floods with soft light and your eyes rotate wetly inside their sockets. A Christmas tree. A sofa...a pedestal and painting with old moldy boxes and a rotted dresser have surrounded you this whole time. For hours on end, you'd thought you were in an empty room with nothing but blank walls around you. 

It's an attic, same as any other…

“Well-well-well! - looky here,” the voice calls, “I caught me a wild animal and no one in this filthy fucking house, ‘specially the ol’ man, is gonna find you up here. Yer aah’llll mine.”

It scares you - he scares you, but the drugs are running stable, and you can't be bothered to try and scream. Once when you were a kid, you fell down a bank of river rocks and snapped your forearm. The doctors had to perform surgery to get the bones back in place, and the stuff they gave you through your IV had felt similar to this...but eventually you'd fallen asleep back then. Right now you are wide awake but not all together there...and it is becoming increasingly difficult to give a fuck about what this man wants with you. 

He crawls along the floor towards you until you can feel his hands on your stomach. This man - this monster - lifts away the sweaty fabric until the damp air hits just above your ribs. His fingers gloss over the tattoo running up your side, leaving raised bumps in his wake. It tickles but you can't move, so you end up groaning instead. 

“Pretty sensitive, huh? Hahaaa...oh man, this is gonna be fun,” his accent is thick and variable; ebbing between highs and lows. 

That - he - unsettles you, but before you can attempt speech, he's gone and moving things around outside your line of sight. 

You can just barely make out his tall, baggy shadow along the floor, moving the sofa around. He's gone back down the attic door a few minutes later and the next you see him he's carrying a large black box on his shoulder and piles of rope over his elbow. None of that looks good for you, but this drug...it's warm and soft and you shut your eyes and sigh. 

Minutes tick by, or hours, you're uncertain, and another part of you doesn't even care. You're high, and it's nothing like that time you ate those gummy bears of your ex’s either. This feeling isn't like a pot high - it's all unthinking bliss and relaxation, and your lips curl as a soft wave of calm flows over you. This won't end well, you think. 

“Ya’ know. I gotta say,” he talks as if she's already been talking with him this whole time, “I'm glad you got a small appetite. That last one might’ve ruined all the good things I've got planned for yooo!” 

His tone changes from deep to manic and then back again like the changing of the sea - like the waves that crash over you in timed peaks and crests. You've never felt so out of sorts before. 

“God…” you whisper, cracking your eyes open only to find the man leaning over you, hands on his knees like someone who spotted something shiny on the ground. 

“Look what I found?! Heh’heh!!”

You realize you're the quarter he's spotted; glittering on the ground and he picks you up like you weigh about as much as one too. 

Laying down still and moving are two different things, you realize. A wave of vertigo and nausea threatens to ruin the good vibes, but thankfully the man drops you on the soft sofa cushions before the digested cookies decided to come back up. You breathe a sigh of relief as the sick feeling dies down leaving you and yourself with the drugs coursing through your body. 

It would take something incredibly problematic to cut through the effects of the drugs but when this man’s hands starts working on the front button of your hiking shorts...your breathing waivers and the fear runs deep. It's clumsy, undressing you. Your body must be as dense as it feels because he grunts and curses as the damp air hits your bare skin. He's taken your underwear with the green cotton shorts…

“God damn it, sweet’heart! - this ain't as easy as I'd pictured it. Guess that's the downside to this, hmm? Oh! - and by the way,” he's talking a mile a minute it feels like, and it's hard for you to focus when he’s pulling your arms out through your flannel, tugging your favorite tank top over your head and cutting the middle of your bra with an exacto knife. 

His toothy grin blots out your vision and his breath fans down your chest, making the peaks of your breasts stiffen. He licks his lips and finishes, “when yer calling out to dumb, ol’ God, just remember it ain't him that's doing this to you. It's me! So remember! Count yer blessin’s and shout ‘Lucas’ all you want.”

Rope caresses your left thigh, and the panic and the drugs make your breathing too shallow to sustain any consciousness. As darkness closes in around his face, you hear him whisper in your ear…

“...’cause I'm the only one that's gonna hear you scream.”

When you first become aware that you're indeed awake, albeit barely sober enough to cling to consciousness, it’s with a tickling sensation in your toes. They’re numb...or they’re about to be. 

As your eyes slide back open, greeting the low lit attic, you realize your fingers feel about the same. A black television set is on the floor below you, but you barely spare it more than a glance.

You’re on the couch. You remember now, that man...Lucas or whatever he said his name was put you here, but not before removing your clothes and there’s the blurry recollection of a rope and that weightless sensation of being manhandled. 

With a ragged breath, you try to alleviate an ache in your inner thigh only to find you can't move. 

Rope - well worn and damp with sweat - is knotted around your arms, thighs, legs, and ankles. It spans all around the back of the sofa, keeping you perfectly spread out with little wiggle room. The realization would have made you scream, but the TV before you fizzles to life in a short second; booming static tearing at your nerves. On the screen you see him - that fuck face from before - and he’s barely holding in laughter.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” he croons, eyes twitching so fast it seems like some physiological twitch more so than a mannerism. 

“Today’s the big day, and I’ve been waitin’ for the right girl to try this puppy out on - and you! Ooh, sweetheart...you are somethin’ special.”

The drugs are still running around in the middle of your skull, and while the appropriate reaction to this would easily be three times as frantic, your heart still races and though your body is contorted and immobile, you still shiver in mounting panic. A number of scenarios rush in and across your frontal lobe; ghastly, bloody and sexually depraved. You see them clearly behind your eyes, but they feel more like movie plots than potential futures. This fucking drug. You liked it before - how could you not when it felt so serene, but now? Now it’s blocking what should have been your fight or flight response.

You try to call out to the TV, maybe to beg or curse him, but the seal of duct tape over your mouth holds all of it in. 

“I was gonna call this little experiment ‘How deep can girl’s swallow baseball bats before choking on their organs’ but that idea ended toooo quickly. So! Change of plans.”

Lucas clapped his hands together, scooting closer to the monitor. You wonder if he can see you or if this is a pre-recorded tape, but you figure, in the end, it doesn’t really make a difference.

“I call this one ‘Enter the Thunderdome: girl vs. machine!’ Catchy, I know," Lucas' lips thin in concentration, looking off to the side before smirking, “Of course, that could get us into some copyright trouble. Ah! haaa….I’ll try not to overthink it. Point is we’re gonna have fun you an’ me and no matter how hard you scream or beg...well…” 

You listen on the edge of your sanity as his voice drops too coarse to be human, “...I ain’t stoppin’.”

The television cuts out; the bright light collapsing into the dark glass. You see yourself in it...like a mirror. Looking into the blank TV, you're shaking becomes suddenly manic. 

He’s splayed you out like some gutted animal, legs spread wide open with your arms raised out along the back of the couch, kept there by the cutting rope. There's even a large painted arrow on your inner thigh, pointing between your legs...with a smiley face against the ball of your knee. It’s like something out of an underground snuff/porno flick...which, you realize, is what you're a part of now. This might very well end in death for you, and you wish - second to freedom - that you’d eaten that last cookie.

Somewhere above your head, a speaker system buzzes to life, “Don’t be so scared. This is gon' feel good...hehe’heee, at least at first it is!”

Sweat breaks out underneath the rope and as you twist and struggle it only rubs your skin raw until just the shivers of fear are a pain. There is nothing but quiet for too long, heightening your senses until another sharp mechanical sound sputters to life. You think for a second someone is trying to drive an eighteen-wheeler into the room, but it's not that...it's far from that. 

The sound is coming from behind the sofa, and as it grows in intensity the cushions vibrate underneath you; at your back and whatever skin it touches. 

Shadows appear on the floor in front of you, below you, and to your wide-eyed horror, a metal arm extends over your head, settling with a hiss of air in front of you. 

You try to speak, but it only serves to heat up the tape around your mouth, making you sweat against it. At the sight of the Machine, wholly alien, you start to heave with panic. Without your mouth free, the only air traveling to your lungs goes in through your nose and as the fear starts to mount you feel tears burning your eyes. Your sinuses flare, and it becomes harder to breathe - harder to not panic even more from the fear of suffocating than the fear itself. 

A static growl proceeds Lucas’ grating voice, “You really outta calm down. Just,” a pause, “think about fluffy pink clouds and ponies.” You hear his giggle through the speakers which must be mounted all around the room because it feels like his voice is everywhere.

“Ya know, girl stuff! I'll wait until you can breathe to start him up for ya. Take yer time.” A rip of static and the silence begins to pound inside your ears. 

You look ahead, as the tears threaten to fall down your face. The strange contraption before you doesn't look harmless, but it's isn't coated in spikes or sandpaper...so that scenario helps take your irregular pulse down a couple of degrees. It appears to be some sort of robot assembly arm, but it has what looks like a car battery taped to one side, jumper cables leading down towards a metal casing sealed in what could be rubber...but looks almost like soft silk - it's not. There's a shine to the material that's at once matte and shiny, and the whole thing does little to calm you down. 

You don't want to pass out...or die here like this, but fixing your breathing means being the victim of whatever the hell it is in front of you. It's a dilemma, but just the act of thinking about something other than the idle machine is calming and before you know it your chest has stopped rising and falling like a damn piston. 

As the machine arm jerks and hisses to life, you scream and scream and keep screaming until Lucas fizzles over the speaker, laughing so hard you can barely hear the hard vibration coming from the contraption. It’s so loud and jittery and coming fast towards you that you don't have time to prepare yourself for when it finally reaches its destination. 

You. 

As soon as it makes contact between your spread thighs your body tenses like it's been hit by lightning. You can feel your teeth humming as the soft rubber presses harder against your cunt, throwing you into a brutal static motion. You can feel it inside your heart, with each beat of blood and it worms its way into your brain until your eyes start running tears and you can't see straight. 

It feels so good it hurts.

Your first orgasm is short and sharp and so sudden it takes your breath away, but behind the tape, you’re moaning as if you want more. The rope cuts into the meat of your limbs as you curl your nails into your palms. 

With your head pressed back into the sofa cushions all you can do is tense and breathe and let the next abrupt orgasm hit you like a bullet. They come almost like clockwork, each one more raw and intense than the last - it goes on forever it seems until suddenly the machine makes a screeching sound and stops. 

Your body itches from the lack of vibration; covering you in goosebumps and making those tears you'd been leaking earlier flow like torrential rain. It almost hurts without the vibrations, and you think, as the attic hatch bangs open, you want more…

“God damn it! O’eight batteries…” he growls, climbing up until he's shuffling his feet around the sofa. You're left there as if you don't even exist; panting through your nose and groaning while he does something behind you. The machine arm that had been your best friend and worst enemy a few minutes ago jerks, as Lucas, this monster of a genius, tinkers with his creation. 

“...um, that ain't right.”

For fuck’s sake, you think, curling your toes and fingers as the severe aftershocks finally let up. You hate the thought of your torture being over, but at the same time, you're afraid of it starting back up all over again. 

Perhaps this is part of what he has planned, although you get the feeling just by looking at him that he knows little of the female orgasm or how it can mount and mount. Outside of porn, you don’t think he’s been around a woman like this...just thinking about yourself in that state - the state you're in now - is humiliating.

As you blink away tears, you manage a glance inside the dark glass of the television set - your shiny with sweat in the reflection and you can see a dark stain running down the upholstery between your thighs. Movement in the corner screen catches your attention, and you watch as Lucas stands hunched over a flat panel where the mechanical arms extend out of.

You try talking behind the tape. With all the sweat it's come unstuck in one corner of your mouth, so when you say his name, he pauses and turns to you inside the TV. 

Again, you say his name, trying to ask him to remove the tape. 

He laughs, clicking his tongue before you see him step outside the view of the screen. Your body stiffens as he steps in front of you, right beside the metal arm. He gives the battery a flick of his fingers and snorts in amusement.

“Looks like this ain't gonna work anymore,” he comments, leering down your contorted body. For a second your stomach sinks, thinking he’s talking about the machine. You don’t want it to end yet, even though you can imagine how red and raw your cunt must look. It throbs for more despite how swollen it must be. 

When he rips the tape off your mouth you gasp, sucking in cold lungfuls of air. It tastes good - just the air by itself is like guzzling down water. Some of that haze behind your temples clears and you blink, thinking as clearly as you've been able since eating those damn cookies. He meant the tape, you think wildly, nearly smiling.

After your lungs are full and happy, you use your new found ability to talk immediately.

“...get me out of this thing,” you rasp. 

Do you really want that, though? You swallow and shake your head, realizing you need to start bargaining with him now before that thing of his starts back up and you lose yourself to it again. 

“Untie me,” you groan and then louder you shout, “NOW!”

Lucas, for all that you can see of his face under the shadows of his hoodie, chuckles in response. You jerk against the rope, glaring up at him through messy lashes and rosy cheeks. He's still laughing at you, interspersed by throaty hiccups as if your demands make this all the more fun. It does, you know. Of course, it would. This sort of guy gets off on having the upper hand, and there's no way, as immobile as you are, that you could change that.

He's tall, but you can see how baggy his clothes are; he's skinny. You could take him you think, but then you remember how easily he'd picked you up off the floor...like a quarter. He could be doing worse and more to you if he wanted - the thought isn’t as reassuring as you want it to be. 

Underneath all that thin skin and unshaven jawline is more strength than you can take on...even at your best and as you realize this, he notices you do, and the laughter dies.

“Oh, come on now! Some people would pay good money for this,” he tells you all this with a razor sharp edge to his lips and taps your sweaty knee as if to say you're welcome. 

It scares you - he scares you. That anger you'd had just a few moments ago is dead, and you're left to stare past the mechanical arm, into the television set, at your humiliating position while this guy repairs the machine that's intended to...what?! Is it an experiment just for the sake of it? Is this some fetish of his or does he mean for it to kill you at some point? 

Too much of a good thing, you think wildly, jumping inside your cage of rope as the machine hisses to life again. 

Behind you, Lucas makes a hum of noise. The metal arm jerks and screeches forwards, slapping against your cunt. You yelp, freeze...but it's not vibrating yet. Disappointment and relief in equal measure strangles your throat.

“Oh, thank go-” you begin but the words cut out as you atrophy. 

The battery churns, and the vibrations scatter your thoughts; your mind liquefied as the pleasure runs hot enough you think you're about to burn. 

It's painful, but it's good too, and with a serrated groan you pant through a fresh orgasm. The length of time between the last one and this one makes this peak stronger than all the others - it curls your toes and strains your stomach muscles as the full-body waves crash and suck away any pain from before. It’s...addicting.

“Heh! Will you look at that?!” Lucas exclaims - loud enough you can hear him over the robotic fuck machine as it works you into another roller coaster of sensations. Too much! That climax was too intense, and now you're too sensitive. You think, at some point, you scream. It's hard to tell if it's all mindless screaming inside your head or out your throat, but either way, his laughter mingles with the humming machine as everything goes white while another contracting orgasm locks you in place. 

Another one hits you less than a minute later, and the one just after that makes the tears flow again. All the while you can feel the delicate waft of hot breath on your shoulder. Lucas is watching you, staring down your quivering stomach and bouncing breasts as you jerk and writhe. It's impossible, but you try your best to pull away from it as the sensations become too much. It's too much, and it's going to kill you. One more and you're done for - you think this is it and you do scream this time, you can feel it in your throat as you scream it raw. 

“Come on,” he pants behind you, “one more for, Daddy!”

You cum again, and it blots out your vision like swift-moving rain clouds covering the sun. The room twists and goes dark like a power blackout but the machines still running, so you know it's just you. 

Suddenly the machine is kicked off, and you sob as that burning sensation itches at your skin; setting fire between your thighs. Your cunt’s so raw and hot that it feels frozen. Your fluids have sealed your flesh to the hard going rubber this time, so when the arm retracts it peels off. Tender, awful pain and sparks of pleasure run along the abused flesh…

“...no more,” you sob and cry. 

“Ain’t gonna say I’m not surprised. Ah’ thought you’d go out cold awhile ago...but damn, sweetheart...yer a trooper.” Lucas hisses.

You feel his fingers dancing along the length of your stiff arm, running blunt nails up along your neck until he's pinching your chin, tipping you back. 

You’re too weak to twist out of his palm even when you feel his hot tongue reach out and lick the tears off your cheeks. Asshole, you reel, panting softly until he gives you a wet, hard kiss; groaning into your mouth. You could live with this, you think. Despite his teeth tugging at your lower lip and that wicked tongue flattening on the roof of your palate, it allows you to recover from what he’s done. Lucas is not a merciful captor, though and with a loud click, you squeal against his tongue as the machine roars to life once again.

Begging doesn't help you, even though hearing them makes his lips twist into a wide grin against your own. The prickle of his unshaven face adds another sensation to everything. 

You reckon he can feel the high current running up through your body as he releases your jaw to squeeze both of your breasts. 

With a sob you turn your head to the side, letting it fall weakly against your shoulder. The cruel twisting of your nipples between his thumb and forefingers urges another powerful orgasm up from the pit of your stomach. He growls and hums and makes mocking barks against your neck, nipping at the glowing skin while you shake...trying to fight off the impending climax.

It’s so good...but ‘too’ good and he knows it. Lucas knows. He built the fucking thing after all. You wheeze and brace yourself as the pleasure builds and builds. It isn't until the last syllable has left your lips ‘uuhsss’ that you realize you've just said this assholes name. 

“Ya’ wanna repeat that for me?”

Yes, you think, holding your lip between your teeth just before-

The machine stops...and right in the dark reflection of the dead TV, you can see Lucas holding up a small remote. You let out a breathy growl as the impending orgasm recedes into a steady ache. 

“Hey-” you nearly demand the machine back on, but you stop yourself, knowing this is what he wants. Lucas has been watching you from the television set, and he knows what's happening to you now...and you're not going to give it to him. If it's pompous satisfaction he's after he’ll be disappointed.

This is rape after all, isn't it? If it's not, it cuts close, and yet the fixed rubber pressing deeply between your legs makes your heart race with excitement. As if you could will the vibrations to start anew, your hips push up as best they can, trying desperately to regain that friction. 

“Nuh-uh'uhhh…” he chastises you, curling his arm up around until it’s pressing brutally against your throat, forcing your head back into the cushions. It’s hard to breathe…but the thrill and anticipation you’d been soaked in before the machine stopped doesn’t fade - it only grows stronger.

“What's the password, sweetheart?!”

“Pas-password?” You question shakily; half delirious. The ragged edge of your own voice worries you - you sound nothing like yourself, but that makes a sick sort of sense. You’d never picture yourself in a situation like this nor that you’d enjoy it as you are. Everything is wrong and backward, and you don’t know much, but you do know that if you don’t cum again, you’re going to go insane.

“Ooh, yeah. It’s all about the right password - I bet the right one’ll give ya just what you’ve been waitin’ for. Go on…” he breathes against your ear, growling darkly, “...guess.”

It's his name, you know it is, but it sticks to the roof of your mouth as your inner thighs quake with unreleased tension. Maybe if you stay quiet, hold your own, he’ll give up and ‘punish’ you. Lucas has all his faculties, and you don't, you remind yourself as you feel your cheeks run red as your hips roll as best they can under the stress of the ropes. 

Humiliating - the meaning has never been more apparent until now, but as you blink away unshed tears your lips quiver, “...Leww-lucasss. The password it's-it's Lucasss…”

“Ding-ding-dingggg!!” 

You hear the click of the remote immediately, but that brutal shake you expected is nothing but a slow tremor. It's a weak vibration, and instead of sighing in relief you're snarling and cursing. Lucas chuckles against your neck and cups the weight of your breast in his large palm; bruising the flesh deliciously. 

“Fuck you!-you sadistic fu-uhhh…” the speed kicks in with two rapid clicks, and you melt. 

To your blissful horror, you begin to drool as the waves start crashing up between your thighs once again. This one - it's going to be a good one. You know it because your toes are already curling and your throats dry again from all the gasping and groaning. 

“Ooowh’yes,” you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you tense; focusing on that deep, nearly toppling build up of pleasure. You're so close when two more clicks pierce your ears and the intensity it brought down to a barely there tickle.

“Noo…” you whimper, sobbing softly, “no, no-no-no-nooo!”

“Let's make a new experiment,” he growls along your arm, inhaling the smell of sweat off your skin. His tongue runs down to the bend of your arm and swirls over a bulging vein before nipping at it, “we’ll call it ‘What will one horny bitch do for a good time’? What do you think? At a loss for words, huh?! That good? Well...let's test a little theory of mine then.”

Your heart is pounding in your ears, blocking out half of the sounds flickering around you but you hear it when the telltale sound of a zipper is brought down. For a second you ignore the implications of it as the soft little shivers of damp rubber keep teasing you, but that firm hand around your breast falls away, and it’s just another loss of sensation on the road to another crescendo. 

You groan; seethe out in displeasure, but you should have counted yourself lucky before when you twist your head around to spit curses at this asshole...you’re met with a long, thick...glistening cock. 

It’s veiny and blushing at the tip, and though your eyes are foggy, you can clearly see a bubble of precum flooding out of the slit. The look of it makes you go red - you feel the heat run into your cheeks. Something about being run ragged by a machine wasn’t nearly as distressing as what you're sure is about to happen. You lick your lips without thinking, but apparently, that’s all the invitation Lucas needs because he angles his cock down and smears your lips with the tip.

You recoil back just as quickly as the fluid warms your mouth. Hot, sticky precum leaks between your lips and you spit, but gasp and the taste splatters on your tongue. A nasty chuckle fills your ears, and as you try and spit the flavor out, Lucas presses his cock to your lower lip again as if it's some game. You turn away again, but all that does is leaves a trail of wet around the side of your face as his dick pulses underneath your jaw. It’s so hot and hard, and the musky, manly aroma of it is making you dizzy.

No, you bite your teeth. You’re not sucking cock, especially Lucas’ cock just to satisfy some primal desire you don’t exactly need. You tell yourself all that, but when the motor kicks up a notched - that click making you salivate - you moan gratefully and throw your head back as his large cock brushes against your chin for a third adventure. 

“Come on nowww…open up and say ahh’hhhh,” he snickers, and grunts when you're too busy gasping to care that he’s sliding his cock head along your parted lower lip. A drop of precum lands inside your mouth, spilling in front of your teeth and this time the taste is so thick you feel your stomach growl.

“Hungry?!” Lucas asks; voice gone giddy and ragged once again. You are, you’ve been hungry for so long now, and something must show on your face as you feel that building heat pool because with another ‘click’ the vibrations all but cease.

You finally, finally manage to look up at him. He’s got one foot on the floor and the other on the sofa beside you with the base of that unreal cock in his fingers; pants sagging around his hips and the look on his face is enough to make you bare your teeth.

If he puts that in your mouth you're going to bite it off. 

See how much his face splits with a grin when he’s sans a dick to beat off with. Inside your head, you’re convinced you won’t turn around and swallow him down, but after another ‘click,' followed by another you whimper and part your lips in defeat. It’s a painful thing, needing to cum like you do and it could be worse. You tell yourself it could be so much worse as you slide your tongue underneath the flared head; tasting sweat and musk and cum and something almost like salt candy…

Fuck this, you curse, but you take him down until you gag. When he clicks the remote, and that beautiful hum kicks back up, you let a long, massive groan run out your throat along his dick. 

“Take it, you dirty bitch,” he recites as if he’s repeating a line he saw out of some shit porno. It would have made you laugh, but your mouth is full, and you're taking it like a dirty bitch anyway so it’d be pointless to argue.

A less fake and more genuine, “Damnit…” leaks out of his throat as your tongue curls.

Oddly gentle fingers run through the sweaty strands of your hair, take hold and tip your head back, opening your throat for more. He’s being too careful for this to end well, but you can’t find a single fucking care as your body tenses - those hard vibrations running you down to the finish line until your slurping around the cock in your mouth instead of biting it off. 

When you finally get that orgasm you’ve degraded yourself for it’s good - it’s real good - but there’s something empty about it and your insides contract around nothing. You rake your teeth down the length of pulsing, hot cock in your mouth as he thrusts slowly, hoping to cure some of that emptiness by reminding yourself you're actually full, but it does little to alleviate the ache. 

Moaning as the pleasure runs bittersweet down your inner thighs and up inside your chest, you hum as Lucas’ dick hits the back of your throat.

“Shit! Ooh’oh...ahhh-” Lucas jerks his cock from your throat, covering the silky, shiny length in his hand. Your vision can’t keep up with the furious speed in which he fucks his fist, but you blink blurry and wet just in time to witness strings of cum fly over your chest, your chin and drip obscenely down your sweaty body…

Your stomach growls audibly this time, which disgusts you. Ropes of warm, slimy cum dribble down your curves and yet a part of you would have rather had it run down your throat into your stomach. 

A part of you had been looking forward to swallowing a load of hot cum. Fuck, you think and then “fuck…” you curse aloud, hating yourself for a second or two until your body shakes as the machine continues working as intended, bringing on another, this time, weak and pitiful release. Still, you arch and gasp and exhale as it crests - the slick cum running down you all the while.

“Ah, man. Im’a gonna have to keep you for a little bit longer. This?! - well,” he chuckles, “this is just too fun.”

It's not, you think, panting and licking your lower lip furiously as another orgasm starts to build. He's not turning it off or turning it down, and you feel like the wires of your sanity are being plucked as each second goes by.

Just before you're about finish again, the contraption dies. With a vicious snarl, you stare up at him but find him already watching you, sweaty and for the first time not covered up in his hoodie. The sight is unsettling. He’s human, like anyone else and that troubles you, after all, this time seeing nothing but hard shadows and sunken features. Thinking him as some fucking monster had been easier to accept your situation, now you’re not sure what you want.

He's...not attractive, but for some reason, you spend too much time absorbing the sight of his hard cheekbones and angular jawline; studying the large bags under his eyes and that hook nose until something about him enthralls you. Not much older than you...but he looks like he hasn't aged well, but he also looks manic with a bad case of insomnia, and that could be the cause. Why even think about his looks?! 

See! - you reel in panic, you've gone crazy and never again will you be the same. 

Your case for insanity solidifies as you watch Lucas kick his pants off, cock hard again and swaying - and instead of feeling fear it's with a sick sort of anticipation that you wait for what's about to happen. He’s going to fuck you, isn’t he? And it would be fucking...you may be tied up and at his every and any mercy, but you sit there in a mess of knotted rope and sweat and fluids and feel excitement curl inside your stomach. 

There's an ache inside you, and it feels like it’s always been there - the only cure being what’s before you right now. 

“What’cha say, sweetheart?” he asks you as if that would make any of this right, “Is there an ol’ itch deep down in there you just can’t reach? Or hey, maybe I’ve jus’ gotten you all hot and bothered.”

Lucas grabs the machine arm, pushing it back out of the way before bending down to his knees in front of the sofa. 

“I know I am,” he growls and runs a long finger down along the painted arrow on your skin...flicking the arrow tip with a muffled giggle. 

It shouldn’t be possible, but you feel even more exposed now - now that he’s so close you can feel his breath rushing down between your legs. As his hands pull at your thighs, you shiver. He jerks you forward but growls, and in a flash, your eyes settle on that exacto knife again. The thought of being mutilated throws you into a panic, and you scream. 

“No’oh! Help! Somebody-” but he slices through the ropes pulling your thighs open instead of stabbing you as you’d fear. Your screams die off in an instant as the blood starts circulating through your legs again.

It’s almost better than all the orgasms combined…

How long has it been since he’s strung you up? - you wonder fleetingly as the pins and needles make you whimper. Lucas waits, either out of mercy or just because he’s savoring the sight before him. Now that your body rests over the sofa instead of hovering just above it, that wet spot you’ve made after everything soaks into your skin.

“I can’t…” you begin, as your cunt contracts in a leftover shock of stale pleasure, “...can’t…”

“Don’t you worry about can’s and cannot’s,” Lucas tells you, grabbing both your numb ankles and pulling them over the edge of the sofa. 

You’re weak, and it’s obvious he wants your legs wrapped around his waist, but the blood is still rushing back into them, and you can’t do much. It doesn’t matter, though and you watch with a nervous twitch to your eyes as he slips the tip of his cock over the hard nub of your clit. 

Based on the shine down under your belly button his cum is still wet; having slid nearly down between your thighs to mingle with your fluids. The idea of that happening is-

“Let’s find out how tight this little pussy really is.”

There’s no way a man of average stamina and strength would have made it inside you in one thrust - not with how swollen and tense your insides have become. 

It would have been a wonder for anyone to get a finger or two up inside you, but somehow Lucas works the whole of his cock through your solid walls; working hard to keep him out - it hurts so good you feel spit run down the corner of your mouth. There’s an ominous, rumble in the air around you and as the skin of your hips meet, you realize that dopey sound is coming from you.

“Ooohhh’weeee…” he whistles, hissing and snorting. 

Like a knife through hard muscle, you think, desperately trying to control your breathing. There's a deliberate twitch of his dick inside you, and that alone makes your tingly toes curl. 

“Ya know…” he groans, “yoooo jus’ might cut my dick off at this rate.”

You cringe at the visual, but for some reason, it makes your stomach tense and curls until you can feel Lucas grapple at your thighs; his knees buckling as your tighten further. It's not like you can help it...it's his fault and that fucking machine and all the waves and waves of bliss. 

Lucas snarls - huffs like a dying man - and pulls back. The friction is raw, so much like a stab wound you start to shiver with anxiety, but then he presses back in, deeper this time and you jerk into his with a wet gasp. 

There's no warning when he wraps his palms around your waist, holding on tight enough to hurt, before hammering your sensitive flesh. Your eyes roll back in your skull as shockwaves of tight, painful pleasure stabs inside your gut. 

It's brutal - there's no mercy in it. 

Lucas wants to cum inside you, and he's going to without worrying about whether you enjoy it or not. You are, though. Of course, you fucking are, and without thinking you start blabbering wetly, spreading your sore thighs wider for him. 

“...yes!” You let slip, and then, as your cheeks blaze in shame, you say it again and again and again. Over and over again the ‘yeses’ slip out of your throat and tumble between the both of you. 

You dare a look upwards, at his face and find him staring down at you; sweat sliding down the side of his face. Those eyes are like slices of blue and white against the dull burning candle light, and his pink tongue is half stuck out past his teeth. Animal sounds, like dog snarls and laughing hiccups, race out of him. He looks like a monster...but...that's alright. You're close to something different than the orgasms before and looking at him like this causes the rush to find you faster.

Lucas grunts and pauses before hiking up the baggy excess of his hoodie, pushing it under his chin so he can stare down at where he's thrusting into you.

"That's much-much fucking better!" He snarls. The hard line of his stomach is pale and cut and your eyes race down, down until you can just barely make out the sight is his wet cock pistoning in and out of you. For some reason, the sight sends a hard spike up your abdomen, and you let out a clogged whine as the sharp tug and push of your insides starts to surmount. His cock is too long for your hips to slap together, but the attic fills with the wet pounding of flesh and your wheezing gasps anyway. 

"Lucas," you moan - that peak is coming on fast, and it fills your weak body with untold energy, enough that you wrap your legs around his ass, heels digging into the backs of his tense thighs. 

It's so good, and suddenly it's too much, and you feel like you're going to explode in a mess of viscera, but you don’t...you cum, and it's disgustingly deep and long, and it feels like someone's pouring molten honey down the root of your body.

"Oo’oh’oh-hoowee! That's it, baby cakes!" His bucking hips - piercing cock - run you into the sofa as you come, screaming and sobbing. His hands fist into the cushions above your stretched arms, keeping the piece of furniture steady as he pounds you all the harder; snarling in your face.

You hope he doesn't take your moans and whimpers of bliss as an invitation to kiss you, but of course he does, and you shove your tongue between his lips despite hating yourself for it. Nothing should be allowed to feel like this - a man like him, a fucking monster, shouldn't be able to do this to you, or anyone. 

Lucas kisses you until you can't breathe and that edging darkness you've experienced already, creeps in. It's then you decide you're going to kill him whenever you get your next chance. 

As his lips suck on your tongue, you pass out from everything - the lack of oxygen, the pleasure...his harsh goading slurs. 

Sweet oblivion comes to your aid, and you fade away. 

The only problem with passing out, aside from it being bad for your brain, is that confusion you feel when you next awaken. 

You try to move but you can't.

With sleep-fogged eyes, you realize it's not the ropes keeping you grounded but your own useless muscles. One of your fingers twitches in front of you, but aside from that, you can't even move a hand let alone your arm. 

Everything hurts...especially your cunt which pulses with burning pain. You whimper and twist at the waist despite the pull of discomfort and let your legs lay open - the damp air cooling the fire there. 

"...fuck, it hurts," you sniffle, closing your eyes as the discomfort molds into a singular throb underneath your skin. You'd kill for some pain relievers...or something, anything to minimize the ache you feel, but you slide your eyes around the dim attic and see no sign of Lucas anywhere. The sofa has been shoved back along the wall, and that machine is hidden in the dark corner; it's edges gleaming against a near-dead candle. 

You're still so tired but as you try to fall back asleep you can't; stuck between that strange plain of consciousness and unconsciousness.

"Lucas," you call out. Your throat’s ragged and all but useless yet you raise your voice and say his name again, hoping it's loud enough to leak through the floorboards. After a couple of minutes of silence, you wallow in your misery and lay there...

A clipped buzz of the television set gets your attention, and the soft, pale light from the screen illuminates more of the attic. The uncoiled rope is scattered around you, some of it frayed as if cut instead of unknotted. On the screen, Lucas is looking at you; eyes bulging and lips twitching into a smile.

"Hey," he barks, grinning maniacally, "I was gonna wait to tell you the good news - but! Ah'hell, I jus' can't wait anymore."

Your eyes narrow, but even that hurts.

"We make such a great team that I stepped out an' got you some more toys! Now, yer gonna have to hurry up and get to feelin' better soon, cause you make a man impatient for round two and it just ain't no fun fuckin' a ragdoll."

Of course, he kept going after you passed out. You can't move to tell for sure, but you get the feeling there's a leak of sticky cum flowing out of you; painting your inner thighs and the wooden floors by now. It's...not a terrible realization, but that in of itself is terrifying. 

You part your lips to speak, but he clicks his tongue and shakes his head, "No-no'noh! Let's not worry about what did or didn't happen. We gotta focus on the future, you an' me."

He's going to keep you - it shouldn't come as a shock or a realization even, but it does, and your stomach feels light and sick, and a nervous sweat breaks out over your skin as he shows you his teeth in a broad, curling smile. 

"When yer ready, check the bottom dresser drawer. I'll see you in ah' couple hours, sweetheart," and then the tv screen collapses into darkness, cutting out halfway into a mad cackle...but somewhere underneath you, you can still hear the muffled laughter. 

"Son of a bitch," you curse, staring up at the arched ceiling.

Static flickers through the speakers and you frown as Lucas' voice crackles to life.

"Ouch! Yer gonna hurt mah' feelings if you keep that up. Now, come on. Get up! Look in the drawer!"

He cuts out again, and you don't want to move, but you do it anyway. It hurts, and it takes forever to get upright. The gravity of sitting up comes crashing down around your skull, and even though you try not to place any pressure on your lower half, it sings with pain, making fresh tears well up.

You crawl along the floor on your belly after crying out at the cutting feeling in your legs. No way are you going to walk or make it on your knees, so you ignore the last vestiges of dignity and drag yourself like the air has become as heavy as lead until you reach the dresser. The bottom door is already half open, so you reach inside and pull out the only thing inside.

It's a green glass pill bottle, but liquid sloshes inside. 

'Bzz-zt!' the speakers go, "That there is gonna make you right as rain."

You turn the label around, but all that's stamped on it is a green medical cross. The whole thing looks incredibly suspicious, and though you fall back on the floor, holding it in front of you, you don't drink it. The speakers are still humming, so you know he's watching you...

"Go on! Crack that puppy open and dump it where it hurts."

You frown and close your eyes again, "Everything hurts..."

"Well, hurry it up then. I ain't got all fucking day!"

The speakers fizzle out, and you're left in silence once again. He's still watching you, from wherever he's put the cameras, but you hesitate. He's already drugged you once, and because of that you ended up here; laid out on your back with nothing to feel but overused and abused.

As you unscrew the metal lid, you come to the realization that if he's had cameras installed, he's probably got recordings of you getting fucked by both him and his machine. You picture him uploading the video to some dark part of the internet where more shady people can sit in their chairs and jerk off to you being 'tortured.' It's not a good feeling, but it's not a revolting one either which just worries you all the more.

In the end, you douse your cunt in half the bottle, sighing as the slick, oily liquid cools and numbs the inflamed flesh. Immediately, you feel ten times better and pour the rest down your torso, rubbing it into your skin, down your arms and thighs and bruised ankles. 

It's like a miracle drug. You don't know what the fuck it is, or if you're about to melt into a pile of red and bubbling flesh but for now the pain is a bad memory and you feel...fantastic.

After a minute you're up on your feet, moving around the attic. You're naked, and sure enough, as you start moving around, Lucas' cum starts dripping down your inner thighs, making you feel filthier than you already so very much are. In the corner are your clothes, but your bras been sliced down the middle, so you simply shrug on your flannel, button it up and wipe away the slime between your thighs with the ruined cotton bra. You'd wear your tank top, but it reeks of sweat.

By the time the floor cracks open, birthing light within the darkness, you're sitting on the floor beside the pedestal in your shorts and flannel with a bored expression.

"Eh'yeah...that'll do," he remarks, staring over at you with his palms flat on the floor. He's wearing his hoodie again; coating his face in hard-lined shadows and menacing highlights. 

You don't move towards him, which shouldn't be unsurprising but he looks impatient and grumbles, waving you over, "Well?! Come on, it's supper time, and everybody's waitin' for ya."

Your stomach makes a loud, howl of emptiness despite how you hug your knees to your chest, obviously not planning on moving. Lucas just rolls his wide, insomniac eyes and throws the attic hatch back on the floor. The loud sound rattles your brain, but you hold still as he crawls towards you.

"Listen here, sweetheart. You either come on down with a smile - ooorrr! I can do it my way..." That last line of his drops into a growl so eager and sadistic you uncurl your legs and nod.

You follow him out of the attic, into a dusty room that smells of childhood and despair. He holds your hand as if you're a new friend or someone else - definitely someone he hasn't just done all that deplorable stuff too. 

When you finally reach the dining room, with its low lantern light, foul sour smells and diseased eyes staring up at you, your heart stops for a second.

Against your ear, inside your damn mind, Lucas shushes your fast beating heart and whispers, "Welcome to the family, sweetheart."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it to the very end. I've never done a POV like this before and I know usually authors try to make the 'Reader' gender neutral, so my apologies for anyone that was disappointed by it being female. Let me know what you think in the comments if you have the time or the desire and please, if you notice a typo, let me know! <3
> 
> Tumblr ----> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/


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